The Federation Enquirer
by Aislin30a
Summary: Requested on LJ. After the Narada Incident all parties involved are being stalked by the paparazzi. The crew decide to strike back! These are the top ten funniest/controversial/WTF moments that result. Characters: Whole Dang Crew. Focus on the Main Crew
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** T for language and themes

**Characters:** Kirk and McCoy

**Summary:** The Paparazzi cross _**The Line**_. This means **_WAR!_**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or anything associated with it. I'm doing this for fun, not profit.

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The Federation Enquirer

~Part 1~

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Leonard leans forward, arms braced against the wall of the shower, and lets the spray run over his head. It's a little too hot, enough to make his skin prickle, but the rivers of heat running down his neck and back, the streams falling off his nose and chin are soothing despite it. He turns, sighs as the hot water begins to work some of the tension out of his shoulders.

It's been a long day. One in a series of long, aggravating and exhausting days. He's not sure who he hates more at this point, the media for being obnoxious little shits or Star Fleet Public Relations for trying to _handle_ him. He's just the sort of vindictive bastard that would take a great deal of pleasure from the fact that Star Fleet PR hates him just as much as he hates them and it pisses him off that even this small emotional outlet is denied him. Because the reason PR _hates_ him is the exact same reason that the damned media _loves_ him.

Dr. Leonard McCoy has absolutely no filter between his brain and his mouth whatsoever. (_Media of the world, your Messiah has come._)

It's been a problem in the past, saying exactly what he thinks to professors and supervisors who don't appreciate hearing it. The Deans of the Academy were willing to brush it off as a minor annoyance. Star Fleet PR is not.

Leonard's lack of a Bullshit-Filter is a major problem for them because there are certain things the Admiralty would like to pretend didn't happen. How Jim got on the Enterprise in the first place is one, how he managed to assume command is another. Two things which technically should get Jim, Leonard and even Spock court-martialed. The Admiralty has managed to avoid this unfavorable outcome by being, in Leonard's opinion, deliberately _stupid_. By instructing the senior officers and Alpha bridge crew to answer _only_ what is asked of them and to _volunteer nothing_. By choosing their words carefully during debriefings and leaving follow up and elaborative questions unvoiced. All to avoid the PR nightmare that would result from putting any member of the crew that saved Earth up in front of a military court. Because the media and the public don't understand the phrase '_Standard Procedure_'.

Bureaucratic bullshit.

The media, being the clever little bitches they are, have picked up on the fact that there's something Star Fleet doesn't want them to know and have been hunting it down without mercy. So Leonard's spent the last few days (and will be spending many more to come) trying to dodge sneak attacks by journalists and getting exactly what he can and cannot say drilled into his head by PR (_not that there's anything to avoid because there isn't, we don't know about it so don't make us kick your ass for talking about that thing that didn't actually occur, this conversation never happened okay?_).

Cagey bastards.

Leonard shuts off the water, hitting the knob with a little more force than is strictly necessary, and steps out of the shower. He dries off quickly, stepping into the sweat pants he'd folded on the counter earlier, before draping his towel over his head and walking out of the bathroom to check the time. It's getting late, the sun's nearly set and Leonard wonders if Jim will even get back before he heads to bed.

_'Speak of the devil'_ Leonard thinks as the door slides open. Jim walks in, dragging his feet. He stops when he sees Leonard and leans against the partition separating their beds from the rest of the dorm room, dropping his gym bag on the floor.

"Do you know how many paparazzi I spotted on my way here?" Jim asks, dragging his sweat drenched shirt over his head and tossing it at the laundry shoot.

"I don't really want to know." Leonard starts toweling his hair dry. He watches as Jim makes his way across the room.

"Thirteen! Thirteen, Bones." Jim groans as he collapses onto his bed. He toes off his sneakers as he continues. "Staking out the libraries, pretending to be visiting students. I swear to God, I saw one hiding up in that oak tree outside the Astrophysics building."

Leonard stops to consider this. "Don't a couple of raccoons live up there?"

"Yeah," Jim grins dreamily before reaching down to pull off his socks. "I really wanted to stick around for _that_ revelation but I saw the light from our window and it reminded me that I'm fucking exhausted."

Jim grunts and flops back, arms above his head, each hand still holding one of his socks. Leonard tosses his towel back into the bathroom, then walks over to Jim's bed and gingerly extracts the socks from his grip. He throws them on top of Jim's sweaty shirt.

"You reek." He says, looking down at his friend. There are bags under his eyes.

"Yeah, but I don't want to get up." Jim smirks at him without opening his eyes. "Give me a sponge bath? You'd be doing yourself a favor."

"Ah-ha, _no_." He heads into the kitchenette, opens the mini-fridge, shoves the beer to one side and pulls out some yogurt and chopped melon. "I'm making you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry." Jim says, stifling a yawn.

"Dammit, Jim!" Leonard snaps, exasperated. He walks back around the divider and stops, hands on his hips, to glare at him. "This isn't healthy!"

"I'm not _starving_ myself, Bones! I'm just not hungry after running my ass off for nearly an hour." Jim snaps back. He doesn't even bother to look up at Leonard, just raises one hand to gesture rudely in his general direction. "I thought you'd be _happy _that I'm _exercising_ to burn off steam. I could be _fighting_ or _fucking_, but instead I'm being _responsible_."

Leonard rolls his eyes and makes an effort to bring his voice down. "You don't have a choice and you and I both know it. Fleet PR would shit bricks if you did."

"I miss sex."

"Get used to it," Leonard grumbles.

"You could be of more help here, you know." Jim chuckles, tips his head so he can drag his eyes along Leonard's body. He feels his neck heat despite knowing Jim's just joking around. "I mean, _I'm_ half naked, _you're_ half naked. We could – Oh, fuck!"

Leonard's across the room before he even thinks about it. He's on the bed, one hand bracing himself, the other turning Jim's head to face him. Jim's pulling in short, deep breathes almost gasping, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. But he's not curling in on himself, his hands are fisted in the sheets instead of reaching to grasp at the source.

"Jim, give me a clue here!"

"_Cramp_." It comes out as a hiss between clenched teeth. Leonard glances over Jim's body, spots the way one leg is being held stiff and awkward. He moves down and rips the snaps of Jim's pants open. His calf is bulging, twitching as it spasms.

"Jesus, Jim!" He snaps as he starts messaging the muscle out, long hard strokes to loosen it. Jim makes a strangled little sound, like a whimper almost but not quite suppressed. Leonard sighs and softens his tone. "This is what I meant, Jim. Running till you're exhausted, guzzling water, washing all the sodium and potassium out of your system."

"God! Yeah, okay... nghhh! Just don't -ah!- stop." Jim pants. He's got his arms thrown over his eyes. Every few moments his tongue darts out to wet his lips. Leonard tries his best not to sigh with irritation.

It just figures. Attacked by Romulans and nearly falling to his death? No problem. Beaten and strangled by a Vulcan? Nearly eaten by snow monsters? All in a days work for James T. Kirk. But put him in a room with press and cameras and that's it, game over. Not that he won't smile, because he will. Jim will play it up, charming and witty, answering every question. Making the reporters and journalists feel as though they're being taken into his confidence, like they're getting something more than the same old PR lines wrapped up, nice and shiny, in Jim's infectious charisma.

Leonard's seen him do it. Grin and wink, graciously accepting their praise. Dying inside.

Every _'Thank you'_, every _'How did you do it?'_ every _'That's incredible, don't you think so Insert-Name-Here?' _is one lap around the track. One lap where all he can think about is pitch black where Vulcan should be, where all he can hear is the imagined screams of hundreds of their classmates and friends dying. A world he couldn't save, people who shouldn't have died. Spock reaching out to a woman who isn't there, will never be there.

Jim's never said a damn thing about it. He doesn't have to; Leonard can see it all there in his eyes, the pain Jim won't let him heal. If he moved Jim's arms now, away from his face, Leonard knows he'd see it there. The physical pain only a thin veneer across the surface.

He's speaking, he realizes. Soothing words for Jim to hear, voice low and gentle the way he used to talk to Joanna after a nightmare. "You're okay." _It wasn't your fault._ "You're doing good." _You did the best you could, more than anyone else could have._"Relax. That's it." _Let me take care of you._

Leonard can feel the muscle loosen beneath his fingers. He keeps rubbing, working the last of the cramp away. The bed shifts and Leonard looks up to see Jim watching him intently, propped up on his elbows. His breathing is slower now, not as strained.

"There. Now maybe you'll actually _listen_ to me once and a while." _Please, don't shut me out._

Jim smiles at him. It's a little lopsided and doesn't quite reach his eyes but it's better than nothing. "You could do porn with that voice. Really, I know some people-"

"_Jim._"

"I'm serious, it's sexy!"

"That was my _soothing_ voice, Jim, _not_ my sex voice." It's out of his mouth before he realizes his mistake. "Oh, _dammit._"

"So you _do_ have a sex voice? See, I knew you were holding out on me-Aaaahhh!" Jim yells, his head falling back. Leonard snatches Jim's leg before it can jerk away. His calf is tense but not cramping and judging from the way Jim seems to be trying to knee himself in the crotch, the cramp is probably in his inner thigh.

"Bones!" Jim groans as Leonard moves forward, draping Jim's leg over his shoulder before pulling the snaps of his pants open along his thigh.

"I'm gonna rub this out for you Jim," He says, kneading Jim's spasming Adductor magnus. "And then I'm gonna shoot you full of muscle relaxants and saline. I'll even let you use the electric blanket my Aunt May sent me."

"Oh God, I fucking _love_ you right now." Jim pants, letting himself fall back onto his mattress. "And all the lovely ladies of the McCoy clan for coddling you."

"And from now on," Leonard continues, half because it'll be good for Jim and half to get him back for the 'coddling' statement, "You'll be eating at least five servings of fruits and vegetables a day and getting a hypo of vitamins every morning."

"Oh God, I fucking _hate_ you right now."

"Is this good for you, Jim?" He asks, digging his fingers in. "Cause it's good for me."

"_Shut up_!"

*

The next morning they head out for coffee, going to a glorified news stand off campus in the hopes of avoiding any photographers waiting to pounce at their usual haunts. They're waiting for the barista to finish their order (_"You're not getting extra cream in your coffee, Jim." "But Bones! I deserve a treat, I didn't resist when you stuck me with that damn hypo. I was good!" "Jim, you threw a text book at me." "Much. I didn't resist __**much**__."_) and Leonard's feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second.

It's got to be paranoia, a week's worth of biting his tongue and dodging paparazzi catching up to him. But it feels like people are staring, like the two gossips at the corner table are shooting him side-long glances, like the man in the sunglasses is looking at him through his shaded lenses instead of reading his tabloid. He's spent an awfully long time on the front page...

Leonard turns to glance over the magazine rack, trying to distract himself. Normally he'd bitch at Jim, but he's flirting casually with the girl at the counter, whose looking more baffled than flattered. Leonard tells himself very firmly that she didn't just glance his way, the poor girl's just shy and looking for an out. He reads over the headlines.

He stops, glances back at the tabloids and reads again.

_The __**Hero**__ Captain's __**Secrets**__ Reveled!!! Torrid __**Love Affair**__ with __**Doctor Friend**__!!!!!_

He tries, really desperately tries, not to glance down at the accompanying photo. But he's never been very good at avoiding mental trauma, he joined Star Fleet after all. He looks down.

_Holy Fuck._

"_Jim._" Leonard hisses, pulling at his friend's jacket, eyes never leaving the image. Jim shrugs his hand off without missing a beat in his conversation. Leonard grabs his shoulder and pulls. "Jim, _look _at this."

"You know, Bones, it's rude to interru– _whoa_."

"Yeah."

"That's us." Jim comments, tilting his head. "I mean, it's a bit grainy, but that's _definitely_ us."

"Yeah."

They stand there for a few moments, just starring. Leonard takes a deep breath in through his nose, lets it out slowly through his mouth. Trying to force the muscles in his shoulders to unknot.

"Seriously, we should do porn. You could put Jo through collage with this shit."

"I'm going to kill you now," Leonard breathes out, "Right here, where everyone will see."

"Okay, just try to relax-"

"_Relax_? How am I supposed to relax?" It comes out much louder than he'd intended. If people weren't staring before, they're definitely staring now. Leonard feels his cheeks burning.

"Um..." Comes a high nasally voice from behind the counter. "Your coffee's ready?"

Leonard glares at the barista, throws one Jim's way for good measure then turns and storms out onto the sidewalk. He picks a direction and starts walking. The crowd of pedestrians parts in front of him like the Red Sea.

"Bones!" Jim calls from behind him. Leonard ignores him and keeps walking. "Bones, wait up!"

A litany of "_pardon me_" and "_excuse me_" and "_Sorry about that, my fault_" follows as Jim makes his way through the crowd. He manages to catch up with Leonard before he turns the corner.

"You left your coffee." Jim says, holding it up as a peace offering.

"Not thirsty." He growls, glaring down at the offending beverage. He spots bold typeface and a flashy red banner folded under Jim's arm. "You _bought_ that piece of trash?"

"It could come in handy." Jim pushes Leonard's coffee into his hands before taking a sip of his own. That phrase has all kinds of crazy foreboding attached to it, so Leonard makes good use of the next available alley and drags Jim into it.

"How is _this_ going to come in handy, Jim?" He snaps, grabbing the tabloid from under Jim's arm, holding the cover page up where they can both see it. "When will a picture like _this_ ever be useful to you?"

"You're pissed off, I get that-" Jim holds his hands up in a gesture half meant to calm and half to defend.

"That's the understatement of my life!" Leonard throws the tabloid against the alley wall as hard as he can. "I'm a private person, Jim. PR shit I can take but having my life plastered on the front page of _The Federation Enquirer_? That's too much. And it's not even real!"

Jim flinches back, staring at his feet. Leonard feels the humiliated fury drain away as Jim leans down to pick the tabloid up of the ground. At the blank expression on Jim's face. All he's left with is exhaustion and guilt. Jim doesn't deserve to get yelled at. Leonard's not the only victim here.

"I just..." He sighs and leans back against the wall, trying not to think of the grime that's encrusted on it. He searches for words to adequately describe what's bothering him. "We weren't... we've _never_, and everyone will think- fuck! We weren't even naked for God's sake!"

"Yeah," Jim says. He shakes the dirt off the cover and looks it over. "But from the angle they took it at you can't tell that."

"How did they get that picture anyway?" Leonard asks, moving to stand by Jim's shoulder. He can't hold Jim's gaze when his friend looks up at him. "We're five stories up."

"Raccoons." Jim mutters almost too soft for Leonard to hear.

"Jim, I think I would have noticed if there was a raccoon with a camera strapped to its back sitting on our windowsill."

"No, read the left column." The paper gets pushed up in front of Leonard's face. He has to move his head back a few inches before he can actually read it.

_Academy __**Campus Overrun**__ with __**Raccoons**__!!! A __**Menace**__ to the __**Public Health**__ Claims Upstanding Citizen!!!_

"Son of a Bitch." Leonard growls.

"Told you it would come in handy."

"Jim, I'm severely disappointed in the behavior of our resident rodents. Obviously that paparazzi twerp wasn't sufficiently mauled."

"Watch it, Bones. You're starting to sound like Spock." Jim chuckles, grinning crookedly up at Leonard. "If Spock were kinda twisted and used words like 'twerp'. You know what this means right?"

"Yeah, I'm going to be having a really unpleasant conversation with the Ex sometime today, and the next time my Mom goes to the supermarket she's going to be scarred for life." Leonard offers, figuring he should give Jim the opportunity to laugh at him in exchange for Leonard's earlier verbal abuse.

"You're physically incapable of seeing the bright side of any given situation, you know that?" Jim smirks.

"What's the bright side of this, Jim?"

"They've crossed The Line." Leonard can hear the capitals on the last two words as easily as he can see the look on Jim's face. It's the look Jim gets when he's strategizing about something Leonard is very likely going to regret participating in later.

"Why is that a good thing?"

"All's fair in love and war, Bones." Jim grins, looking up from the tabloid.

If Leonard ever did what was good for himself he'd walk away now. But he hasn't seen a smile reach Jim's eyes since he came down to Med-Bay after escaping the black hole to find Leonard and Spock trying to out eyebrow each other over Captain Pike's irate bitching. He'll grumble and complain, but whatever Jim decides to take this, Leonard knows he'll be right there with him every step of the way.

"You don't have to worry about me getting cramps anymore, by the way. This is going to be _fun_."

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~End Part 1~


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating:** K+ for language

**Characters: **Sulu, Riley and Kirk. Mentions of McCoy, Chekov and Gaila.

**Summary:** Sulu attempts to avoid the paparazzi using the old "Moving Bush" Routine. Sort of.

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The Federation Enquirer 2

~Part 2~

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"Sulu?"

"Yeah, Riley?"

"What in God's name are you doing?"

The question comes out a bit muffled so Sulu looks up from his spot on the floor. Riley is standing in the entry to their dorm room, arms laden with a case of beer and a package (from Riley's grandmother, the only person Sulu has ever heard of who puts antique stamps on her mail "_just to be sure_"), a bag of take-out clenched between his teeth. He's eyeing Sulu's current entanglement with apprehension, shifting on his feet as though he can't quite decide whether or not he should make a break for it while he still can. Sulu bats a particularly insistent vine away from his face.

"Riley, meet Gertrude. Gertrude, this is Riley, my roommate." Sulu says, pulling a thin, mesh like tarp out of his backpack. The vibrantly pink flower at the center of the tangle of vines and leaves tilts to regard Riley.

"Sulu," The take-out bag drops to the floor, completely forgotten. "Did you just introduce me to _a plant_?"

"Don't say it like that! Gertrude's very intelligent." Sulu rubs his knuckles over the main stalk, just below Gertrude's septals. "She's got about the same reasoning capacity as a small rodent. Pretty damn good considering she doesn't have a brain. Isn't that right, baby?"

"I'm worried. Seriously worried about your mental health, buddy." Riley's beer makes a dull thud as he sets it down on his desk. "I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, but I draw the line at fondling plants."

"I'm _prepping_ her." Sulu corrects, draping the translucent fabric over Gertrude's many vines. Riley must have retrieved his bag from the floor because the tangy smell of sweet and sour chicken catches Sulu's attention. Gertrude's inner fronds curve upward, testing the air. "Hey, can I have a few pieces of that?"

"Yeah, sure." Riley grabs the closest container on hand, a coffee mug that's _probably_ been cleaned sometime in the last couple days, tips a few pieces of chicken into it and holds it out. He eyes Gertrude warily. "What are you prepping it for?"

"_Her_, she doesn't have stamen. I'm sick of being ambushed by journalists, so I've borrowed Gertrude from the Xenobotony greenhouses to use as camouflage." Taking the mug, Sulu examines the contents. Light sauce, no batter so the chicken wasn't fried. Riley always did have better taste in food than music. One inquisitive vine taps against Sulu's wrist. "You hungry, Gertrude? Open up, that's a good girl!"

Sulu picks a couple of pieces and holds them out with the tips of his fingers. Gertrude's fronds quiver briefly before several vines curl around the offerings, bringing them up and dropping them into the waiting maw of her opened petals.

"You're going to use a _carnivorous_ plant as camouflage?" Riley asks, voice a little higher than normal. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"She's not dangerous to humans, Riley." Sulu replies, adjusting the fabric until Gertrude is completely covered, leaving a bit of extra length to drape over his own head and shoulders. "Gertrude's species comes from the deep jungles of Darthia, so she's sensitive to light. When she needs to be moved between buildings we cover her with translucent fabric. And since she's a cuddler, I'll have to cover my upper body too, so none of her vines are exposed to direct sunlight."

"A cuddler, huh?" Riley says, looking a little dazed. "Don't you think you'll stand out like that?"

"Nah, transferring specimens between greenhouses and labs isn't that unusual. And even if I do stand out a bit, the paparazzi won't be able to see my face. That's the important bit."

"Well, if she starts gnawing on your head, don't comm me."

"I'll keep that in mind." Sulu grunts, lifting Gertrude up against his chest. A few vines snake their way around his shoulders, hooking against the pin folds of his cadet jacket. After getting the remaining fabric situated over himself, he turns towards the door. Riley hops up to sit on his desk, back pressed firmly to the wall.

"Where are you headed anyway?" He asks, popping the top off a beer and taking a long swallow.

"Cochrane Hall. They want to walk through the Enterprise's flight chart again." Sulu sighs, shifting Gertrude's pot to get a better grip. He never thought he'd get sick of talking about the wild stuff they'd done during the Narada Incident, but Star Fleet Command has managed it. "Pavel's going to watch Gertrude when it's my turn for the inquisition."

"So it's _Pavel_ now, eh?" Riley smirks.

"Shut up, Riley."

*

Sulu's halfway through cutting across the Director's Memorial Rose Garden, a course change to avoid a news crew filming on the Main Quad, when his comm chirps. Normally he'd ignore it. He's lost time by changing his route and he really wants to be early so Gertrude can have a chance to get used to Pavel before Sulu has to leave. But he can never be sure who's trying to get a hold of him lately. It could just be a friend wanting to hang out later, or it could be an Admiral's secretary or a rep from Fleet PR. All in all, it's better to answer now than wait until after he's done in Cochrane Hall to find out who he's pissed off.

He stops by a trellis and props Gertrude against an urn shaped planter. He spots a couple of guys with suspiciously camera shaped bulges in their jackets pretending to admire a gazelle shaped topiary. They look him over once and turn away. Gertrude is serving her purpose beautifully. Sulu flips open his comm, careful not to snag it on the shade tarp.

"Sulu here." He answers as softly as he can and still be heard on the other end.

"_Sulu! Glad I got a hold of you_." Kirk's voice sounds loud enough to wake the dead. Sulu flattens himself against the trellis and hisses back into the comm.

"Kirk! Keep it down will you? I'm trying to avoid a couple of paps." Sulu glances around the edge of his hiding place, barely keeping Gertrude supported on her perch. The two guys have moved on to a rose bush with deep purple buds. They don't seem to have heard Kirk's voice and are facing the other way.

"_Sorry. But hey, speaking of the paparazzi, I've got a bit of news_." Kirk's voice comes through much softer now. Sulu breathes a sigh of relief. "_The fuckers have officially crossed __**The Line**_."

"There was a line?"

"_Yeah, a personal one_." Kirk mutters. "_One of them got a picture of me and Bones that... well, let's just say it's a bit misleading about our relationship._"

"Misleading how, exactly?" Sulu asks.

"_It makes it look like we're fucking_."

"Wait. You mean you're not?" Sulu asks, genuinely puzzled. He takes another glance around the trellis. The guys are a little closer now, but still not paying him any attention.

"_No!_" Kirk's voice has risen but lowers again as he continues. "_I can't believe this. Gaila said the same damn thing. What makes you think, I mean really-_"

"Dude, you guys are so married."

"_What? No we're not!_" Sulu hears indiscernible muttering come over the comm before Kirk continues. "_Okay, what it looks like isn't the point. The point is: they deliberately fucked with Bones, one of __**my crew**__. Which means the gloves are off. You with me?_"

"So married." Sulu chuckles.

"_What?_"

"Yeah, Kirk. I'm with you." Gertrude is getting fidgety against his side. Sulu pulls his gaze off the two suspected paps to check the time on his comm. iShit./i He's got less than ten minutes. "Kirk, I'm gonna have to comm you back for details on your evil plotting. I need to get to Cochrane Hall and Gertrude's getting antsy."

"_Gertrude, huh?_" Sulu can almost hear Kirk's eyebrows waggle. "_Kind of a weird name. Is she hot?_"

"Kirk, she's a Darthian _Cephalotus_."

"_Never heard of them. What quadrant are they from?_"

"She's not a _being_, Kirk." Sulu sighs, rolling his eyes. "She's a semi-sentient, carnivorous _plant_."

"_Kinky, Sulu._" Kirk chuckles. "_Very kinky._"

"Oh, for- just no. No." Sulu shifts Gertrude to support more of her weight, checks to make sure his path is clear. He's about to flip the comm shut when he glances over his shoulder one last time, to double check the position of the paps. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

"_Can a semi-sentient plant even give consent?_" Kirk yammers on. "_That would be the most obnoxious position paper ever... I gotta write that._"

"Kirk!" Sulu hisses, trying to get him to shut up so he can hear what's going on around him.

"_What? What is it?_"

"The paps have left my line of sight. So just stop talking-"

"Hikaru Sulu!" A voice shouts to his left. Sulu whips his head around on instinct and is nearly blinded by the sudden light as the shade tarp is ripped away and the flash of a camera goes off, right in his face.

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From an academic perspective what followed next was a rare and unique opportunity. It was, after all, the first time anyone had documented a specimen of Darthian _Cephalotus beauregardious_ going absolutely ape-shit.

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_**Sentient Shrubbery**__ Employed by __**Academy**__ Security!!! __**Man Eaten**__ by Topiary! __**Are Your Children Safe????**_

"That's a good picture of you, Sulu."

"Shut up, Riley."

"I mean it. And they even got Gertrude's good side! See, her fronds look just _lovely_ in that lighting."

"Shut up, Riley."

"Too bad about that first pap's camera, though. But hey! At least they got Gertrude to puke out all his fingers."

"_Shut up_, Riley."

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~End Part 2~


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating:** T for language and themes

**Characters:** Spock and Mike the Pap. Mentions of Kirk and Uhura.

**Summary:** Mike the Pap meets a paranoid, kinda crazy Star Fleet Commander who has some interesting opinions about Spock. Mike investigates.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or anything associated with it. I'm doing this for fun, not profit.

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The Federation Enquirer 2

~Part 3~

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(This section took a lot longer, and was a good deal more difficult, to write than I expected. My apologies for that. ^^ The next part should be up without such a long delay.)

Mike isn't what you'd call the sharpest tool in the box. He never got much education and didn't care too well for what he did get. Most of the jokes the other paps tell go right over his head and Mike knows they know it. But he buys a round of drinks after a long day on campus when his turn comes up because that's what's _done_ and Mike likes to fit in.

They boast and talk shit and throw a couple of jibes Mike's way when things get less than friendly and everyone needs a good laugh. Mike doesn't mind so much. They've all got minds that buzz and zing with clever theories, connecting random tidbits and images that burst like sensational fireworks. They sneak and plot and try to trip each other up, throwing out hints of leads that'll turn into dead ends.

Mike doesn't have much education and he ain't too bright so his mind is quiet mostly. He's a simple man who sees the world simply. So when he hears more and more chatter about the Vulcan commander from his colleges at the bar he knows it's because no one's got nothing on him.

And when they start to get really loud about it, making shit up just to see how far they can take it, Mike also knows he's the only one who's spotted the Fleet man sitting at the booth by the door.

He's dressed in chivies with a baseball cap slanting over his eyes, angled away so no one'll think he's listening in. It's not like he has to worry about it. The man ain't a Face, someone any pap would know on sight, though it's obvious that he thinks he is. The others could look this guy in the eye and never see what he is because they don't watch the world like Mike does. Just seeing and not thinking because his mind's all empty space sucking things in and they've all got spinning cog wheels that get in the way.

The man's Fleet and he's got an interest in what's being said at the bar. Personal though, going by the way he gets all twitchy when the Vulcan's name comes up, not professional. He ain't PR. That's enough to get Mike interested, simple curiosity as to why this guy is sitting in a paparazzi watering hole when the only Fleet men who'll come within twenty feet of them willingly are PR and Security. Neither of which bother to hide.

Mike grabs his beer and slides off his stool. He walks away from the bar unnoticed, because twisty minds don't take note of an escape that the escapee doesn't bother to hide. When Mike gets to the Fleet man's booth he sits down without bothering to ask.

"What's on your mind, Space man?" Mike says, by way of greeting.

The man jumps slightly, eyes darting around the room as though he thinks someone might be listening in. As though anyone particularly cares what either of them have to say. "Recognized me did you?"

"Coulda done, coulda done." Mike says to humor him.

"I suppose I should have expected that." the man continues. There's a roar of laughter from the bar, some of the guys are speculating on certain parts of Vulcan anatomy. Mike doesn't even blink, what does he care? But the Fleet man clutches at his drink, nails sliding over the glass. "I'm surprised more of you didn't come over. From what I've heard and seen you people have no concept of personal boundaries."

"None of them spotted you. Just me." Mike says, because it's true. He doesn't comment on the insult. Mike can smell tequila on the other man's breath. He's getting towards drunk and wants to talk, otherwise he'd have told Mike to fuck off and that woulda been that.

"Observant are you?" The man's still glancing around the room. He takes a swallow of his drink, mouth twisting upward into a bitter smirk. "Not enough men like that around, if you ask me."

The man pulls absentmindedly at his cuffs, two fingers moving across the fabric as though he's tracing lines that aren't there. _So it's like that then,_ Mike thinks. The thought drifts for a moment, alone in his mind. Mike's got nothing better to do so he decides to give it some company.

"Any... observations goin' missed in your opinion?"

The man looks at him sharply, fidgets with his sleeve before taking another swallow of his drink. He glances once more around the room before he answers. "No names?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

*

* * *

*

The next morning Mike finds himself contemplating the words of one Commander Simon van Gelder while he absorbs the hustle and bustle going on outside the Hall of Records. The man's name had been simple enough to find. Mike's colleges tend to approach this sort of thing sideways, spiraling around their goal, but Mike isn't clever like that. He tends to just ask for the information he wants.

The Record Hall's librarians are really very nice ladies, even though they smell a bit like kitty litter. Proper pleasantries and a basic description of the man and his... _quirks_ were all they really needed to fit a name to him and pull up his public file. Mike sort of got the feeling that they'd seen a lot of Van Gelder themselves, and weren't all that happy about it.

A change in the movements of the crowd catches Mike's attention. His fellow paps have spotted a Face. But not one they're eager to converge on. He scans the Main Quad and spots Commander Spock just exiting the Officer's Mess. The wary interest of his peers shifts to a more intense focus as a blond-haired cadet sprints out after the Vulcan, getting his attention with a hearty slap to his shoulder.

Cameras rise reflexively. Pictures of James T. Kirk with Commander Spock are worth a little something, even if they're doing nothing more interesting than having a conversation.

Mike raises his own camera to his eye, zooming in and adjusting the focus on the two men. He tends not to take many pictures with it, but it's convenient to have around.

The angle is odd but he manages to read a few things off their lips. _'Bones'_ and _'Sulu'_ and _'tabloid'_ and _'they take little details and run with them'_ and _'illogical'_ and _'reasoning is unsound'_ and _'plan'_ and '_think __about it'_ tumble around Mike's mind. They float around in there, occasionally bumping into _'Vulcan'_ and _'Romulan'_ and _'no one ever thinks, they just believe him'_ and _'went fucking ballistic'_ and _'been saying it for years, but they don't listen'_ and tidbits from Spock's or Gelder's public files. Sometimes they stick together, connections that could have been like fireworks if Mike's brain worked that way. But it doesn't, so he lets them drift apart again, leaving trails across his mind.

Mike lowers his camera as the two men part ways. Kirk's headed off toward the north end of campus, followed by a fair few paps. They keep their distance, moving with the crowd, trying to blend in. They flare in Mike's vision, like a comet tail trailing behind a shooting star.

Spock walks sedately in the opposite direction. No one follows. Most of the paparazzi had given up on getting any interesting shots out of him a few days after the Enterprise's arrival back to Earth. This, Mike thinks, would make a much more interesting headline than anything that's come out in the last couple of days.

.

_On Commander Spock: Paps Throw in the Towel!!!_

.

Mike allows himself a moment to admire his own humor before he steps out onto the Quad. He makes his way through the tide of cadets, instructors and visitors, taking advantage of every gap and hole until he arrives, shoulder to shoulder with the Vulcan officer.

"Mornin', Commander."

Spock spares him a glance, eyes flicking from his face to his camera before looking straight ahead again. "Yes, I believe it is."

"Hello's what I meant, but I can see as how you mighta thought otherwise." They walk past Larry, who's pretending to have a quiet smoke while he stakes out the cadet Mess Hall. Larry glances up to scope out the passing Face, faining disinterest.

Mike's never seen anyone inhale an entire cigarette before. He takes a picture for posterity.

"I have never been approached by a man of your profession," Spock says. He pauses for a moment to watch as a couple of cadets pound on Larry's back, resuming his pace when they begin leading him off towards the campus clinic. "I have theorized that your colleagues find my demeanor intimidating."

"Probably. Couldn't say for sure." Mike fiddles with his camera strap, prodding the phrases drifting through his head into some kind of order.

"You do not share their opinion?" The Commander stops at a fork in the path, turning to face Mike. One eyebrow is arched in a questioning manner.

Mike scratches at his chin thoughtfully, considering. His stomach tightens unpleasantly, but he figures that's because his eggs were a little off at breakfast. "No... can't say as I do. Maybe if you was human I'd be a bit worried about being broke in half. But seeing as you aren't, I don't expect I'll end up pushing your buttons without knowing it."

"Clarify." Spock requests, looking genuinely puzzled.

"Well... there's a lot going on in the average human expression. White noise if you like." Van Gelder comes to mind. The man had been very _intense_, with more than one person's fair share of facial ticks. "You're face, if you'll pardon me saying so, don't got a lot going on. Your tells are pretty easy to spot."

"Fascinating."

They take the left fork, heading away from main campus and out toward the administrative buildings. The path is lined with trees and shrubs, very cozy compared to the Quad.

"I was wondering if you'd comment on a few things for me." Mike asks, after a few moments of comfortable silence.

"Proceed."

"You've been seen to spend a fair amount of time with a Cadet Uhura." Mike starts with a well known piece of information, because he's curious. "Inquiring minds want to know if maybe you might be sweet on her, with all do respect to the lady of course."

The Commander regards Mike for a moment, brow furrowed just slightly.

"Do you have a romantic interest in her, is what I meant."

"While not forbidden, unless those involved are actively engaged in a student/teacher dynamic, relationships of that nature between cadets and instructors are generally frowned upon." The response is measured, every word falling neatly into place.

"So, that'd be a_ 'fuck off',_ then?" That gets both eyebrows shot up for a second. "It's none of my business, just seemed like the thing to ask."

Spock doesn't respond to that, though he does level Mike with a strange sort of look. Considering almost.

"I wouldn't want to be disrespectful," Mike elaborates. "We was outside the Fleet hospital when she came out with that Orion gal, Miss Gaila, who got discharged. Told us all to go fuck ourselves or we'd be loosing some favorite appendages. All without cussing once. Very classy."

"Cadet Uhura's linguistic skills are impressive." He pauses for a moment before he goes on, almost long enough to sound hesitant. "Her contribution while on the Enterprise was invaluable. In particular, her knowledge of Klingon as well as Romulan. She speaks all three dialects of the later fluently, a formidable achievement which I find most admirable."

Mike stares up at the leaves while he turns this response over in his mind. It stands out pretty strongly in the jumble of concise, almost brusque, statements Commander Spock has made so far. Mike sticks a mental tack in it so he doesn't loose track and lets the others loose to drift as they please.

"Speaking of; I have it from an officer of the Fleet that you, during the time of the Narada Incident, saw fit to physically assault a fellow officer." Mike watches the Commander's face carefully. One eyebrow twitches briefly. _He didn't expect that,_ Mike thinks. The image and thought join the ruff and tumble in his head.

"I find it highly unlikely that any Star Fleet officer would make such a remark." Again there's an almost unnoticeable hesitation. Mike wouldn't pay something like that much attention but coming from a Vulcan it's just plain _weird_. "Vulcan behavior is governed by logic and reason. Assaulting a fellow officer during a crisis would be detrimental to both the situation and crew moral. Highly illogical. Such an action might be expected of a Romulan but certainly not of a Vulcan."

Phrases are bouncing around Mike's head now like bumper cars. Words are overlapping, connecting and flying off again, not so much like fireworks as like sparklers. Leaving a glowing afterimage on his mind. He snags a few as they go by, tacking them up so they don't break into pieces.

"I heard you volunteered to beam to the Narada." Mike throws out. Just to see what the Commander makes of it.

"Vulcans and Romulans share a common ancestry. As such I was uniquely positioned to understand the ship's layout. It was only logical to use such an advantage for the benefit of the common goal."

"Very similar are they?"

"Culturally we follow different philosophies." Mike is looking for the pause now, sees it's not so much a hesitation as a calculation. "However, on a purely physical level the differences between the two species are almost imperceptible, excluding culturally appropriate body modifications."

They've come to a stop at another fork. Down the left there are more administrative buildings, the dome of the stellar cartography building can be seen peeking above their sloping roofs. The smell of overpriced coffee and greasy food comes from the right.

Things are slowing down in Mike's head as they stand there, both waiting for the other to make a move. Commander Spock is watching Mike about as closely as Mike is watching him. He looks off to the side. It's a hard thing to do, just letting your mind suck things in when there's a greater and more precise mind just like your's sucking in the other direction.

Mike considers his options, worrying a bit of grizzle that's stuck between his back molars.

"You ever work with a Commander van Gelder at all?" Mike asks. A spider web stretched between two branches has caught his eye, barely visible in the midmorning light.

"Yes." Spock quirks an eyebrow. Not looking surprised this time, but as though he's gained confirmation on something and is satisfied with it."The Commander is a man of unique character and exceptional skill. His ability to perform his duties with above average efficiency while maintaining a singular devotion to his own line of personal research is a matter of continued speculation amongst our colleges."

"That so..." Mike likes spider webs. They're not all that flashy or sensational, but they've got an intricacy that's straightforward and unassuming. The shape tells you everything you'd need to know about what the spider's after. Flying insects or crawling insects or whatever other kinds there are. The trails and connections in his mind are taking shape just like a web but he can't quite see it yet.

"Might I put forward a query of my own?" Spock asks as the silence stretches out.

"Sure thing." Mike says, not really paying attention.

"Do you feel any sudden impulse to engage in vigorous cardiovascular activity?" It hits '_tabloid_' and '_man of your profession_' and _'they take little details and run with them'_.

And just like that the words and phrases and images shift, blazing behind his eyes like sunlight caught on spider silk.

"You been feeding me lines, mister?"

"A strange and illogical idiom." He replies. A tilt of the head and a slight change in the angle of his posture signal the end of the conversation. Commander Spock nods and makes his goodbyes. "I've found our exchange most enlightening. Perhaps I will find further enlightenment in the near future as well."

The Vulcan turns and walks on, hands folded and resting primly on his lower back.

"Huh."

*

* * *

*

Later in the afternoon Mike drops off some photos for the _Enquirer_. He's got a couple of good ones of some poor 'red shirt', as they're called, being chased by a pack of pedigree beagles that he thinks are pretty entertaining. The desk man is mildly interested in them and asks, probably more because he's bored that anything else, whether Mike's heard anything interesting in the past couple of days. And because his encounter with Commander Spock was interesting Mike relates the story to the man word for word.

He doesn't get past the Commander's ending question because the desk man has called his manager, who's called a writer, who's called the editor and he has to tell the whole thing over again. They all start talking over each other when he gets to the part where he's asking about van Gelder, so Mike just stops and watches. The whole floor is in chaos by this point. Shouts of "did you hear?" and "out of the way" and "I need someone to-" overlap and crowd together to the point where, even standing no more than five feet from the man, Mike can barely hear it when the editor gushes excitedly.

"I can't believe it! This is big, this is huge! He practically says it himself and everyone knows Vulcan's never lie. The whole planet will be talking about this for months!"

Mike's still got his web gleaming in the back of his mind, so when this phrase tumbles in and bounces around Mike takes hold of it and sticks it up in front of the light. It's a bit tarnished but he thinks it's interesting anyway, so he pins it up.

He leaves the _Enquirer_ building with a lot more credits than he walked into it with.

The next day when the papers hit the stands Mike is staked out down the street from where Miss Uhura likes to buy her morning tea. He watches as she walks down the street, Commander Spock matching her pace as they talk. They reach the shop but before Spock can open the door for the lady she's spotted the headlines on the newsstand, eyes going wide and fiery.

Mike raises his camera to his eye. '_I can't believe it_' and '_van Gelder, it must have been_' and '_Nyota_' and '_are you smiling – why_' and '_a most fascinating experiment_' and '_further inquiries may be necessary_' tumble into his mind. He lowers the camera as the two walk into the shop, Miss Uhura laughing bemusedly and the Commander looking... pleased.

These things bounce off each other and the tarnished phrase. It occurs to Mike, in the glow of his web, that when people say '_Vulcan's never lie_' what they really mean is '_Vulcan's always speak truthfully_' which isn't at all the same thing.

Paps have all got twisty minds, except for Mike whose mind is just empty mostly, but Mike thinks maybe the Commander's mind is just that much twistier. So twisty it came out straight.

.

_ Commander __**Spock**__: Secretly a __**Romulan Spy**?!?_

.

Mike lets his web drift apart and smiles.

* * *

*

* * *

~End Part 3~


	4. Chapter 4

**Rating:** T for language and themes

**Characters:** Chapel, McCoy and minor OCs.

**Summary:** Chapel is having a bad day. McCoy makes it all better! :)****

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Trek or anything associated with it. I'm doing this for fun, not profit.

**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, favorited and added this story to their alert list! You guys are all so AWESOME!

* * *

*

The Federation Enquirer

~Part 4~

*

* * *

Christine and Eliza stumble through the main entrance of Star Fleet Medical Hospital clutching at the contents of Eliza's trashed shoulder bag. They nearly fall on their faces (again) when Christine looks over her shoulder to see how the security detail stationed outside is handling the tide of paparazzi, vying for position and still yelling questions at the two nurses. The transparent aluminum doors cut off their voices, hissing shut as soon as the women clear the pressure sensitive tiles on the floor. The paps don't push too much at security, they've learned in the past couple of days not to mess with the red shirts.

"I'm sorry!" Eliza gasps wetly. She's trying to straighten her jacket, push papers and PADDs into what remains of her bag and take the rest of her personal items out of Christine's arms all at the same time. "I- I'm sorry, this is all my fault!"

"Did they touch you?" One of the red shirts stationed by the front desk asks, jogging over to them. His partner follows close behind him. "Did they grab your bag or your clothes?"

"No." Christine answers, taking Eliza's effects out of her trembling hands and looking up at the man in front of them. He's big and if she weren't a nurse Christine might have been intimidated by him. But there's genuine concern in his eyes despite the way he's tensed up for a fight. "Eliza's bag was just over stuffed as usual. It gave up the ghost while we were crossing the parking lot."

"I'm sorry." Eliza mumbles again. She looks over her shoulder at the crowd, whipping her head back around when a few flashbulbs go off.

"They won't come in here if they know what's good for them." The man's partner says, resting one hand on her hip, fingers twitching against her empty phaser holster. She tosses her long, coppery braid over her shoulder contemptuously. "I don't care what Vice Admiral Rescher says. They set foot in this hospital, I'll kick their asses. Those vultures shouldn't be allowed on campus."

"Easy, Williams." The man, Christine glances down at his sleeve, the lieutenant directs his partner back to their post by the desk with a nod of his head. She sniffs, throwing one last glare out the main doors before turning her back and walking away. "Sorry, ladies. We have orders not to instigate a confrontation unless the paparazzi make physical contact or vocalize a threat. You sure you're alright?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, we're fine." He glances between Christine's stony expression and Eliza's unshed tears, running one hand over his goatee as if he's debating whether he should call her on it, before he nods and turns away. "Come on, Eliza. We're going to be late as it is."

Christine takes long strides down the hallway, navigating her way towards the ground floor crash room on autopilot. There's an extra bag in her locker that she can lend to Eliza before the other nurse heads up to radiology. Her boots make satisfying clacks against the tile floor, Eliza's own heels clicking not far behind.

It's been a little over a week since the Enterprise limped into Earth's Space Dock and, overall, Christine has been doing alright. She's been able to spend some time with her parents and brother in between shifts and make time to decompress. PR hadn't shown any interest in tapping the lower level medical staff for publicity, much to her relief. After her debriefings had finished she'd managed to stay under the radar of anyone interested in insider details of the Narada Incident. But the paparazzi have been getting more and more aggressive over the past few days and it was only a matter of time before they started going after the little guys for information.

Christine's going to be in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Not a good thing when her boss is blowing gaskets over his own lack of privacy.

They reach the crash room just as Aggy Pramn, head nurse and self righteous tyrant, comes out. She holds the door for them, hand on the control panel, staring down her prominent nose in disdain. "You are _late_, ladies. I know _Dr. McCoy's_ standards are easily met, _Miss Chapel_, but Dr. Miller and myself are not so lax, _Miss Reinald_. You should consider buying a new wristwatch in addition to a new bag."

"Yes, Ma'am." Eliza says, ducking into the crash room.

Two weeks ago Christine would have done the same. She would have taken the easy route and kept her nose out of Nurse Pramn and Dr. McCoy's ongoing war of words. Two weeks ago Christine respected the doctor professionally, was in awe of his talent and intellect, but knew better than to step in where she hadn't been asked to.

Two weeks ago Christine hadn't seen Dr. McCoy pull a broken Med-bay together, take untested techs and nurses firmly in hand and lead them through the most horrifying experience of their lives. She hadn't watched him fight for every life, accepting no failures. Throwing his nurses and medics into tasks they would normally have blanched at, seen how they'd succeeded at them if only because he expected them to. She hadn't picked herself up off a bloody floor with the rest of Med-bay, after the ship jumped and lurched unexpectedly, to look around at all their frightened but determined faces and think '_If I make it through this, whatever happens, wherever I'm stationed, this is it. This is my ship, these are my people and __**he's**__ the heart of us. If I leave this place, it'll be because they're dragging me out kicking and screaming.'_

Two weeks ago, McCoy was just her boss.

But that was two weeks ago.

Christine shifts Eliza's things to one arm, brings herself to attention, stares Pramn in the eye and salutes.

"Sir, yes, sir!" She belts out loud and sharp enough to make two techs down the hall jump and turn to gape back at them. "This nurse will endeavor to arrive on time, sir! Would sir like this nurse to convey sir's opinion of the Lieutenant Commander's professional criteria to the Lieutenant Commander upon reporting for duty, sir!"

Christine can see Eliza frozen in shock out of the corner of her eye, mouth hanging open, her torn bag laying forgotten at her feet. Pramn recovers from her own surprise quickly and narrows her cold, gray eyes, thin lips pursing. Christine can practically see the wheels turning as the woman sizes her up.

"That won't be necessary." She snaps. Pramn gives Christine one last calculating look before stalking off down the hall to terrorize the nurses working the front desk.

Christine darts into the crash room before the door can slide shut. Her heart is beating a mile a minute and she has to dump Eliza's things into the nearest chair because her entire body is trembling. She's royally pissed off and riding a frantic kind of victorious high that shoots lightening from the tips of her fingers down to her toes.

"I can't believe you did that." Eliza whispers, hands cupped over her mouth. "She's going to make our lives a living hell! Cristy, what were you thinking?"

"She's a bully and she deserved it." Christine snaps. The door of her locker protests briefly but bursts open when she hits it with her palm. She snatches her spare bag out and tosses it at her friend. "I missed the bus, got waylaid by paparazzi and feel flat on my face right in front of them. I was on the _Enterprise_. I'm not putting up with her shit. Not today, not ever!"

"I just-" Eliza stops, closing her eyes to keep herself together. She takes a deep breath and Christine feels herself come back down to earth.

"I'm sorry, Liz." Christine says, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Let's take a couple of minutes and get your things packed up, okay?"

They've got Eliza's PADDs and paperwork organized and stowed away when the door hisses open again. Christine's head snaps up – a small, utterly ashamed part of her worried that it's Pramn come back to chew her out. But it's Dr. McCoy who storms in, one hand holding his chirping comm up so he can glare at it.

He flips the cover open, lets the man on the other end get as far as "Dr. McCoy, our readers would like to know-" before holding it up to his face and yelling into the receiver. "Stop comm-ing me, you jackass!" He snaps the comm shut and throws it across the room and into the recycling bin. His lips twitch into an almost-smile at the dull, metallic sounds of crushed cans.

"You're just going to have to dig it out again." Christine says after a few moments. McCoy turns to them and scowls. She's known him long enough not to take it personally.

"You're late, Chapel." He growls and points at the wall in the direction of the front desk. "There are God-damned paparazzi outside the doors and Pramn's glaring acid at me. Is that your doing? As if I don't have to put up with enough bullshit from that woman-"

He stops abruptly, staring past Christine's shoulder, completely flabbergasted. She turns her head to see that the dams have finally burst. Eliza is sobbing quietly over her scuffed compact.

"Chapel... the _hell_ is going on?"

"I'm sorry!" Eliza wails before Christine can answer. "Pramn is m-mad at us and Cristy sassed her and you're y-yelling at us and-and-and the paps were chasing us and they got a p-picture of my _bum_!"

Eliza gasps, trying to reign herself back in as Christine rubs her back in a soothing manner. The doctor's gone very still. He glances between Eliza, the clutter of items and the ripped bag; though the wall as though he's looking at something far off, eyes narrowed. His gaze comes to rest on Christine's and she could swear his eyes look more green than hazel. Green like copper pennies consumed by fire.

"That's it. They've gone too far." McCoy says, voice low and dangerous. He turns and palms the door open, moving out into the hall.

"Stay here, okay?" Christine says before darting out after him. The hallway is empty when she looks out but McCoy couldn't have gone far, she wasn't _that_ far behind him. She heads toward the stairwell knowing that, if McCoy's gone that way, she'll be able to hear his amplified bitching even if he's managed to reach the topmost landing.

"-what Jim says, I don't need him defending my damned _honor_." The door of the hypo storage room hisses open, emitting McCoy's grouchy ramblings followed by the doctor himself. Christine spins away from the stairwell and practically sprints back past the crash room, closing in on her superior. He's inserting a couple of serum canisters into a pair of hyposprays as he turns the corner towards the front desk. "They can have all the scandalous pictures they want. But _harassing_ my nurses, that's over the fucking line!"

"Eliza works in radiology." She says when she catches up, eyeing the man as he adjusts the settings on his tools. "What are you doing?"

"Right now, every nurse in the God-dammed building is one of mine!" McCoy snaps. Christine's almost having to jog to keep up with him. They're far enough done the hall that the nurses at the front desk glance up to see what's going on. "And I'm going to teach those bastards a lesson."

"What? You can't do that." Pramn is leaning over the front counter to glare at whoever's making the racket. A look of morbid satisfaction comes to her face when she sees who it is. "They've got cameras!"

"And I've got highly potent, fast acting laxatives," McCoy smirks, tossing one hypospray so it flips up in front of his face before snatching it out of the air and tucking it into the pocket of his labcoat, like a cowboy holstering a pistol. "In a convenient, one touch applicator."

"That's a bad idea!" Pramn's face is turning scarlet as they get nearer. She's rounding the end of the front desk, marching out into the lobby to intercept them. Christine tries one last time. "Dr. McCoy!"

"Christine, I'm about to be arrested for physical assault. You can call me Leonard." He gives her a nod as he breaks away. The two red shirts leaning against the desk exchange a look as McCoy approaches. Williams bounces on the balls of her feet, face perfectly blank and the Lieutenant is brushing his goatee with one hand, as though he's trying to hide his expression. McCoy nods to them as Pramn storms up, cutting between him and the main doors. "Morning Ensign, Lieutenant Cupcake."

"Sir." William acknowledges and manages, through exceptional self control, not to snicker.

"Bone Doctor." The Lieutenant nods back.

"Dr. McCoy!" Pramn hisses, hands on her hips, glaring up at him. "Don't you _dare_ disgrace this Institution any more than you already have!"

A gasp comes from Christine's left. She thinks it sounds like Eliza, maybe she followed them, but she can't take her eyes off Pramn and McCoy to check.

Everyone has seen the pictures, has heard the stories both old and new. No one has _ever _even hinted at them to the doctor's face.

The lobby has gone perfectly still, watching as the two try to stare each other down. Christine is holding her breath, not even daring to breathe, the tension in the room is so thick. Pramn's stepped too far, taken her own dislike of the man beyond any reasonable measure. Everyone in the room knows it. Even the red shirts can sense it, watching and waiting with steady hands and sharp eyes.

Pramn knows it too, drawing herself up taller, chin stuck out. But she's too prideful, too self assured, to back down.

_'Say something.'_ Christine thinks, hands bunching into fists. _'Say anything. Don't let her stand there, looking down on you. You picked us up when the world was breaking and kept us standing, don't you bdare/b let her cut you down!'_

"Nurse Pramn, please inform the Dean that I won't be completing my shift today." He steps around her and walks out the doors. The paparazzi surge forward to meet him.

"Well." Pramn trembles in fury, sucking in deep breaths of air. She rounds on the red shirts. "Well? Aren't you going to go out there after him!"

The Lieutenant brings his hand down from the comm unit at his throat to stick his thumbs in his belt, watching the mayhem unfold out past the doors. The two guards outside have stepped back from the fray, taking it all in as they observe from the sidelines. The Lieutenant tilts his head toward Ensign Williams. "I don't know... our orders where pretty clear. What do you think, Ensign?"

"Oh, I think we probably should." Williams answers, grinning. "After all, some of those paps are getting away."

"An excellent point." He replies, pushing off the desk and leading the way across the lobby. "Note of caution, Ensign. Stay well out of the doctor's way. We wouldn't want any casualties, now would we?"

"Dully noted, sir."

"I can't _believe_ this! You're superiors will hear about this!" Pramn yells over the screams as they walk through the main entrance. She turns back toward the desk. "One of you comm the nearest PD, this instant!"

"He's quite something." Eliza breaths out. They watch as Williams catches a pap off the rebound, directing him back toward McCoy's whirlwind of shiny, neck stabbing doom. "Is he single?"

"He seems to think so." Christine grins, watching as one pap tries to dart into the safety of the lobby. He hits the transparent aluminum hard. The Lieutenant has his hand pressed to the emergency lock. The whole thing reminds her of mischievous blue eyes, how they'd be framed by laugh lines if he were here. "Though for the life of me, I can't figure out why."

*

* * *

*

The next morning Christine buys a tabloid on her way to the hospital. When she gets to the crash room (no paparazzi to be seen and Pramn manning the front desk, looking like she's choking on what should have been a personal victory) she cuts out the front page and tapes it up in a place of pride. The morning shift all gather around to admire it.

.

_Crazed __**Doctor Attacks**__ Innocent Bystanders!!! "__**Not the First Time**__" Claims __**Earth's Savior**__!!!!!_

.

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*

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~End Part 4~


End file.
